Start a story with the line, “My mother broke every plate in the house that day.”
My mother broke every plate in the house the day my sister got engaged. It was as if she had never heard good news before. The crashing of the heirloom china echoed throughout the house as mother sang το τραγούδι της νύφης, “The Song of the Bride.”
“Γλυκό κόρη,” papa hollered from the living room, as he opened yet another cabinet of priceless dinnerware, “Where is my sweet daughter? Come celebrate your sister!” I laid on my bed motionless just listening; the smashing of the plates and traditional Greek exclamations of love went on for hours.
“What’s that, mommy?” a little voice asked from behind the armchair, jolting me back to the present.
“A piece of θεία Nikki’s engagement party,” I said to my daughter with a smirk.
I placed the broken white and blue plate on the mantle next to a picture of my abundantly Greek, abundantly proud family from that night. My parents have long since passed, and my eldest sister moved to California after Theo’s business relocated to the coast. In the reflection of the picture, I could see a little person had appeared from behind the chair and was gazing up at me with wide, sparkling eyes.
“Mommy, when I get engaged, will you throw plates for me?”
Picking up Aurianna with her thick chocolate curls bouncing in the air, I replied without a second thought, “Every last one.”